


The Adventures of Bitty The Vampire Slayer

by snorklepie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: BAMF Bittle, Crack, Fluff, Humor, Inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Jack is so confused, M/M, Secrets, Snark, bitty has superpowers, bitty is the slayer, utter crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:28:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snorklepie/pseuds/snorklepie
Summary: In which Eric R Bittle bakes by day and slays by night. His only problem is keeping it a secret from his team-mates.“What pointy stick?”“The one you just stuck up your sleeve, Bitty.” Jack points out. “It’s still poking out of your cuff.”Bitty bites his lip. “Uh… would you be prepared to believe that it’s an unusually large cinnamon stick?”
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 38
Kudos: 112
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redheadgleek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgleek/gifts).



Bitty has many, many things to be pissed about at this moment. There’s the shattered kitchen window for a start. There’s the frankly adorable vintage curtains that got ripped into shreds; and he’d only just got them hung up the week before. There’s the butter stain across his favourite shirt and he’s pretty sure that’s not ever going to come out. But most of all… Most Of All… There’s the remains of a freaking _perfect_ tarte tatin lying splattered across the kitchen floor, still steaming gently on the linoleum. It had been beautiful, the crust thin and crisp and speckled with caramelised sugar. He had picked the apples himself, from a beautiful orchard outside town. And now, NOW, it was ruined. Splattered and squashed; the pastry smooshed onto the floor after that absolute bonehead decided to throw himself through Bitty’s kitchen window. 

Bitty’s feet travel harder and faster across the balding back lawn of the Haus; the adrenaline carries him over the chain link fence. He sails through the air, landing cat-like on the balls of his feet. He pounds across the neighbours garden, avoiding the sprinklers and leaping a fence when he hears the growl of Bobby the not-so-friendly neighbourhood Rottweiler. The figure ahead of him is fast, _really_ fast; scooting up a tree, across a hedge and flinging himself over the width of a covered swimming pool with ease. 

Altogether too much ease, that’s the telltale part.

Bitty narrows his eyes and thinks fast. His quarry is heading north-east, clearly heading towards the patchy woods that line one side of campus. It’s one of their usual haunting grounds; an area that freshmen are routinely warned to keep away from. It’s ill-lit, rough ground and there are reports of muggings, stabbings and worse taking place there every year. Bitty’s glad his mom didn’t think to check the local crime statistics for Samwell before he came here. She never would have let him come. 

He veers to the left, down a weed-choked drive and across Petunia avenue; cuts across a deserted parking lot and rolls under a broken fence. He hears the sleeve of his shirt ripping and growls quietly to himself as he pulls away from the jagged wire. This asshole is going to _pay_. 

He lands next to the neglected railroad tracks that lead through the woods, blood singing in his veins. He stands stock-still, listening to the pounding of his heart and the noise of his surroundings. Bitty takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes briefly. There’s a faint cool breeze blowing, ruffling the leaves in the trees and the long grass he stands in. He can hear a car honking perhaps a mile away, and the rustle of small animals in the undergrowth. A kid arguing wearily about bedtime in a house a block over. 

And there it is. Fleet footsteps, so agile that they barely reverberate against the dirt. Bitty wheels around. He’s ready when the shadowy figure clears the fence and lands next to the rail tracks. 

He’s not much older than Bitty, outwardly at least. He’s stocky, with sandy hair and he’d probably be quite cute if it wasn’t for the whole twisted face, yellow eyes and gleaming razor teeth thing. He’s clearly surprised to see Bitty standing there in the drifting moonlight, hands on hips.

“Oh, sweetheart. I think you must be new in town, right?” Bitty inquires, cocking his head to one side. “Didn’t anyone tell you that the hockey house is off-limits?”

“There’s nowhere in this town that’s off-limits to me,” the vampire spits. “I heard about you. I heard about the hockey-team twink who thinks he can call the shots round here. It’s time someone taught you a lesson.”

“Well honey, that’s real thoughtful of you.” Bitty smiles sweetly. “How are you at conversational French?” His fist flies out and smashes into the vampire’s nose. As he staggers back, Bitty lets loose a couple of flying kicks to his solar plexus; knocking him to the ground. 

But this guy is quicker than he bargained for; reaching out and wrapping a large hand around Bitty’s ankle and flipping him onto his back. Momentarily winded, Bitty gasps for breath and before he knows it the vampire is on top of him, wrestling him down into the mud. He’s heavy, and he’s got the familiar yet still completely nauseating stench of graveyard dirt and old blood. He’s lost count of the number of vampires he’s had to deal with since he came into his powers, but it still makes Bitty want to gag, every time he gets this close to one of them.

“I’m gonna eat you alive, pretty boy…” the vampire grins and a drop of saliva slides from one of his gleaming incisors. It lands on Bitty’s collarbone and lord that is just _gross_. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

“Well I ain’t got time for you!” Bitty pants, and plants a well-aimed knee between his thighs. He’s rewarded with a satisfying _oof _and the vampire lets his grip on Bitty’s arms slacken for just one moment. It’s long enough for Bitty to flip him over with a powerful rock of his hips and he slams his knee into the vampire’s chest before punching him once, twice, three times in the face as hard as he knows how.__

__And Bitty knows how to throw a punch, yes sir. He’s learnt a lot in the last few years although next to nobody knows about it. Most people still look at him and see the cute little anomaly; the blonde twink on the hockey team. The guy who helps out with charity bake sales and who refuses to sit on the scuzzy green sofa and who will do a triple-lutz on the ice given half a chance. It can be useful to be underestimated._ _

__And really fucking annoying at times, of course._ _

__The vampire makes a last, feeble attempt to grab at Bitty’s throat. But it’s so easy to predict it only makes Bitty roll his eyes before smacking the hand away and expertly breaking four of the vampires fingers. He yowls, a high feral cry that is cut off abruptly when Bitty jams the wooden stake home through his chest. There’s a split-second moment of almost comical surprise in the vampire’s eyes before he flies into a million motes of dust. Bitty drops a few inches, panting as he lands in a really disgusting mess of grey, oily powder._ _

__It stinks. He knows from experience that it never really washes out, and he sighs before rolling to his feet. He’ll do his best with a Tide pen, but it probably means another donation for the textile recycling bin._ _

__“It’s okay for you, you jerk.” he mutters at the mess on the ground while he attempts to dust down his filthy jeans. “I bet the outfit you were wearing was lame even in 1995. Camouflage cargo pants, for crying out loud!”_ _

__Bitty really should have heard the footsteps approaching from behind him sooner. It’s possible he’s a little distraught about his favourite shirt though.  
It’s gut instinct when the sound registers in his brain though. The adrenaline is still flooding his system and he’s a whirl of movement as he launches himself at the large figure looming out of the shadows. They wheeze and cough, and it’s only when Bitty has them pinned up against a rotting telephone poll that he registers that they’re breathing. Warm and smelling great and _breathing_. _ _

__Still, it doesn’t mean that they should be sneaking up on ostensibly innocent people after dark in deserted wastelands. Bitty cranes his neck to look up into the face of his (possible) attacker and freezes. Because of course, of fucking _course_ , it’s Jack Zimmerman’s throat that Bitty’s got pinned under his forearm. He backs off in a hurry, letting Jack drop a couple of inches to the ground as he swiftly tucks the stake up his sleeve._ _

__“Bitty!” Jack gasps, one hand massaging his throat._ _

__“Oh dear lord, Jack… I am so, so sorry. It’s real dark out here and I guess I was a little, uh… jumpy.”_ _

__“Jumpy?!” Jack echoes in disbelief. He’s a little hoarse, and Bitty feels bad about that, he really does. Except he’s also mad and defensive and he has to think fast right now. “Bitty, you just lifted me right off the ground with one hand!”_ _

__“Adrenaline rush.” Bitty says stoutly. He’s read Twilight three times (secretly of course) and he knows that this is a valid explanation. Even if it is more than a little ironic in these circumstances. “You know, uh… fight or flight response?”_ _

__“And the pointy stick you were about to stab me with?” Jack persists. “And why are you so dirty?”_ _

__Bitty has a lot of potential answers to the latter question, but he manages to restrain himself. “What pointy stick?”_ _

__“The one you just stuck up your sleeve, Bitty.” Jack points out. “It’s still poking out of your cuff.”_ _

__Bitty bites his lip. “Uh… would you be prepared to believe that it’s an unusually large cinnamon stick?”_ _

__Jack just looks at him._ _

__“Well, what were you doing out here?!” Bitty splutters defensively. “I mean, it’s a little strange that you decided to come take a walk along some deserted railroad tracks right next to Murder Woods, isn’t it?”_ _

__“I wasn’t taking a walk! I came home and found the kitchen torn half to pieces! Through the broken window I saw you running across the back yard like a bat out of hell. It looked almost like you were flying when you took that fence!” Jack looks like he’s trying really hard to remain calm, and he takes a deep breath. “I could tell which direction you were headed. I didn’t know what you were doing but I knew you were heading towards the woods. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this place after dark, Bitty! Bad things… I mean _really_ bad things happen out here.”_ _

__Bitty clenches his jaw, forcing himself to bite back the instinctive reply that of course bad things happen out here. It’s just usually him that’s doing them to the richly deserving undead local residents._ _

__“Jack, you don’t need to worry about me. Truly.” he contents himself with saying._ _

__“I’m beginning to see that.” Jack says, slowly._ _

__In the moonlight, Bitty can see a red patch on Jack’s neck. One that he left there. “I’m real sorry I hurt you,” he says quietly. The anger is evaporating and it’s being replaced by a rush of guilt._ _

__“What is going on, Bitty?” Jack asks quietly. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”_ _

__Bitty can’t really begin to think of an answer to that. He always seems to be in some kind of trouble. At least 73% of the time, it’s not even his fault._ _

__“Jack… I can’t really explain this. Not right now.” Bitty sighs, and grimaces as he tries one last time to dust himself off with grimy hands._ _

__To his surprise, Jack seems to accept this non-answer. At least for now. But he still looks worried, and a little wary when Bitty carefully pushes the stake further up his sleeve so that it’s no longer showing._ _

__“Come on, Mr Zimmerman.” Bitty says with a half-smile and he’s relieved when Jack falls into step next to him. “I got a lot of cleaning up to do in that kitchen. I’ll walk you home.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

Bitty spends most of the way home trying to think up a plausible excuse for why the Haus kitchen is in ruins. He can explain a smashed pie to his team mates easily enough, but a broken window is going to require more imagination than he feels he’s got at the moment. He steals a glance out of the corner of his eye at Jack, who walks silently beside him. 

Jack’s hands are deep in his pockets and he’s frowning; clearly thinking hard. Bitty’s grateful that he’s not being interrogated but at the same time he knows that it’s not going to last forever. Some time in the not too distant future, Eric is going to have to give Jack an explanation of what he was doing by the railway tracks, sweating, dishevelled and filthy. And why Bitty was aiming a sharpened piece of wood at his chest. And, most importantly, exactly how Bitty was able to hoist Jack off his feet one-handed, without a thought. 

Any hopes that nobody had discovered the mess soon disappear. Jack opens the side door for him and Bitty can hear the sound of squabbling and inefficient sweeping coming from the kitchen. 

“I’m telling you bro, we shouldn’t be cleaning up! We should be calling the cops or campus security – this could be a crime scene!”

“Dude, I don’t think anyone is going to come and investigate a broken window and a tragically murdered pie. Except Bitty of-“

“That’s what I mean!” Holster’s voice is rising, with an edge of panic. “Where is the little guy? Why isn’t he here, if there’s been a terrible pie accident? What if he’s been kidna-”

“Nobody has been kidnapped!” Bitty cries, bursting into the kitchen. His hackles are slightly raised from the ‘little guy’ comment, but he shakes it off when he sees the relief on Ransom and Holster’s faces. 

Holster sits down heavily on one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar. He nearly falls to the floor when it turns out to be the one with a wobbly leg. 

“Bitty!” Ransom gives him a worried frown. “What on earth happened in here? We got home and found the kitchen like this and your pie….” he gestures at the floor where a dishcloth has been draped over the ruins of the tarte tatin in what is probably meant to be a sign of respect. 

Bitty stares at the pie. At the ripped and tattered curtains, and the shards of glass littering the worktops and floor. It’s cold in here now, with a strong breeze coming through the broken window.   
He suddenly feels tired and sad and totally unequipped to deal with this. The Haus kitchen is meant to be his haven, after all. Word got around pretty quick among the local undead population that the hockey Haus was too risky to approach. He has no idea why that vampire was able to burst through the window. It’s not like Bitty had invited him in for a piece of pie.

Jack leans against the kitchen doorframe to his left, and Bitty can feel the weight of his gaze without turning to around. Bitty clears his throat and scratches his ear. “Well, uh… what happened is- uh… there was a possum-“

Ransom and Holter stare at him.

“You’re saying a _possum_ did this?!”

“No, not an actual possum but I-“

“He thought it was a possum.” Jack breaks in, and Bitty feels his heartrate pick up. He doesn’t dare look at him. “’Cause there was some noises coming from the backyard. But it was actually a couple of guys from the lacrosse team.”

“What?!” Ransom growls, fists clenching at his sides. 

“They seemed pretty wasted, really.” Jack says, with a fine show of weariness. “I don’t think they actually meant to break the window. They were just trying to scare Bitty and a lacrosse stick ended up coming through the glass. They got scared and ran off, and Bitty and I went after them. But they got away - Bitty tripped and fell. That’s why he’s so dirty.”

Bitty’s jaw is slack and he’s staring at Jack now, wide eyed. Jack is a picture of nonchalance, with just the right amount of annoyance in his expression. 

“Those complete douches!” Holster glowers. “They must have scared you good, Bitty.”

“What?!” Bitty wheels around and begins to protest, then catches himself. “I mean, um. Yeah! That’s why I dropped my pie. Yeah. Total douches.”

“It smells really good too,” Ransom says sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, man. I think with all the broken glass mixed in, not even we would risk eating it now.”

“We need to consider our next move,” Holter says thoughtfully as he reaches for the broom again. “We clearly have to plan our revenge. I mean, _serious_ revenge.”

“Whoa there, don’t be too hasty!” Bitty says quickly. “As Jack said, they were pretty wasted.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t remember doing it at all.” Jack nods.

“That is no excuse for vandalism and criminal damage to pastry goods!” Ransom informs them, appalled. 

“Well, let’s get this place cleaned up first.” Jack says firmly. “I think there’s a sheet of plywood in the basement that might cover the window for now. I’ll call someone to get it repaired in the morning.”

And just like that, it’s taken care of. Bitty grabs the dustpan from the cabinet under the sink and helps clean up the mess, focussing hard on the task at hand to stop himself from thinking too much. Why the hell was Jack covering for him? Sure, they are on much better terms than they were back when Bitty first joined the team. But Jack is still a long way from being the member of SMH that Bitty would go to first when he’s in a tight situation. The fact that he’s got those cheekbones and those forearms and those intense hooded eyes… well, they don’t help either. 

Eventually they manage to get the kitchen window frame boarded up reasonably well. The counters and floor are clear of glass and massacred pie. Ransom and Holster drift upstairs, muttering darkly about goddamn Chads and the terrible fates that await them. 

Jack is nowhere to be seen.

Bitty strips off his ruined clothes upstairs, kicking his once-favourite shirt moodily into a corner. He showers under hot water, leaning his forehead against the cool white tiles while he feverishly tries to think of how to explain his situation to Jack. Because Jack’s got to ask him sometime, right?

There’s no sound from Jack’s room when Bitty sneakily presses his damp ear against the connecting door in the bathroom. He almost raises his hand to knock, then chickens out entirely. He tiptoes back into his own room, collapsing into bed and staring at the shadows on the ceiling. 

The thing is, Bitty’s usually pretty good at coming up with excuses on the fly. Katya drilled it in to him early on; think fast and tell them something plausible. Don’t be too specific; people will fill in the blanks themselves. Because nobody wants to believe the truth. Nobody wants to know that the night is actually full of monsters. They’d much rather believe in douchebag lacrosse players, or normal muggers or murderers. They want to believe that the weird noise down that alley is a couple of foxes having a good time rather than someone having their jugular ripped out. And frankly it seems kinder to let people think that there’s nothing supernaturally awful going on. There’s enough terrible stuff on the news every day without having to burden folks with knowledge of the Hellmouth.

It’s Bitty’s job to carry that knowledge on his shoulders. He’s stopped being angry about the unfairness of the burden. Most of the time. 

He twists under his comforter, trying to find a comfortable position and failing miserably. His mind is racing as he ponders what lie to tell Jack. There are a thousand options: he was able to lift Jack because he’s been secretly weight-lifting and taking Korean steroids he bought off the internet. He was doing a little quiet cruising down by the rail tracks, and why didn’t Jack mind his own business? 

He’s still working on an option that covers the kitchen window when he hears the quiet knock on his door. He freezes, heart racing. There’s no question of who that could be. 

Bitty doesn’t move as he stares at the Beyoncé poster on the back of his bedroom door. There’s a pause of a few seconds, and then a second slightly louder knock. 

Bitty still doesn’t twitch a muscle. Because in that instant, he suddenly realises something absolutely terrible: He can’t lie to Jack Zimmerman. Bitty can’t look into those blue eyes and convince him that he suddenly decided to start picking up random guys next to Murder Woods. There is no way he can open that door now. 

Jack doesn’t knock again, and Bitty hears his soft footsteps moving away after a very long minute. He exhales, long and deep as he tries to control his frantic heart. It’s a long time before he falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“So who was the guy?”

Bitty doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t even blink, despite his suddenly jackhammering heart. He continues to construct his sandwich; meticulously lining up strips of chicken and slice of tomato just so. 

“Hmm? What guy?” he replies in an absent-minded tone as he reaches for the mayo.

Because, dammit, it’s been a full week since the night the kitchen window (now replaced) got smashed. Jack hasn’t approached him, hasn’t said a word about the whole sorry mess in all this time. And Bitty had honest-to-god thought he might have gotten away with not explaining anything to Jack. He should have known it was too good to last. 

Jack’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a couple of textbooks under his arm. Bitty glances around at him with a bright smile. ”Want some lunch? Home-made whole wheat bread…” 

He wiggles his plate enticingly at Jack, who doesn’t even glance at the sandwich.

“The guy by the railroad tracks, Bitty. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what was going on down there. I’ve been waiting for almost a week for an explanation and you haven’t come near me-“ Jack inhales sharply, and his face is tense.

“Uh… he was-“ Bitty swallows hard and places the plate back down on the counter with a clatter. He’s usually so good at this! He once persuaded six people that witnessed him decapitating a seven-foot demon in broad daylight that he was a Theatre major taking part in a low-budget horror movie (didn’t they see how lame those ketchup-covered claws were?! Sure, it’s just corn syrup all over the ground, watch your shoes ma’am! And it’s all being filmed on iphone from that window over there…) 

He’s usually got at least three reasonably believable excuses up his sleeve at any moment.

“Well, umm… how about you tell me what you saw?” Bitty asks, stalling desperately as he gazes up into Jack’s eyes. 

Jack’s eyes are very, very blue. Not that Bitty’s noticed this before, of course.

“Bitty…” Jack sighs impatiently. “Come on. You were wrestling with some guy on the ground, in the dark and then he just… I mean, you had that pointy stick and then he just-“ he trails off, frowning. 

“Just….what?” Bitty asks, wide-eyed. Innocent. 

“He- he must have…” Jack glares at the floor, then looks back up into Bitty’s face. “He _disappeared_ Bitty. I was about to jump in and help you, once I was sure it wasn’t a, a-“ he swallows. “I mean, when I realized you weren’t-“

Bitty raises one eyebrow expectantly. 

Jack flushes. He squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “I mean, when I realized you were fighting, not…”

“Not-?” Bitty queries sweetly. He wasn’t exactly expecting the conversation to take this turn, but he’s grateful for any detour it takes. 

“Dating?” Jack offers, after a lengthy pause. And despite it all, despite Bitty’s hammering heart and sweating palms; despite his seething panic he can feel a laugh bubbling up in his chest. He wavers for a moment, then aims for haughtiness. 

“I beg your pardon?” Bitty asks frostily. “What do you think I usually do on dates, Jack?”

“Well, uh- I don’t know, I’ve never seen you-“ Jack’s going redder and redder. “I mean, you don’t usually-“

“Yes?” Bitty asks, and the frostiness is definitely feeling more genuine now. He doesn’t particularly feel like talking about the spectacular lack of romance in his life right now, even if it is a useful diversion. And frankly he’s feeling a little insulted that Jack thinks he would choose to hook up with a guy in orange camouflage cargo pants, for crying out loud.

“Anyway, that’s not the point!” Jack splutters, tightening his grip on his text books. “Never mind who he was, I don’t actually care about that! Where did he go, Bitty? What did you do to him?!”

Bitty doesn’t say anything. What the hell can he say? That Jack saw him stab a vampire through the heart and Bitty collapsed into his greasy, ashy remains? And that this is something so normal for Bitty that he doesn’t view it as anything other than a mild inconvenience?

“He must have run away into the woods…?” Bitty says and it sounds weak even to him. Why is this so hard? Why is it so difficult to look into Jack Zimmerman’s face and tell a lie? 

“No, he didn’t.” Jack says flatly. “Bitty, what the hell are you mixed up in?”

“I cannot even… _begin_ … to answer that question, Jack.” Bitty says eventually. It’s the honest truth. He’s never had to explain all this to anyone before. Katya’s never expressly told him not to share the secret of the undead with anyone; but she didn’t need to. He’s pretty sure it would be a one-way ticket to a psych ward and then who would be left to keep the vampires at bay round here?

“Look…” Jack says quietly, and Bitty’s surprised by the lack of anger or impatience in his tone. Jack’s eyes are… well they’re _concerned_ and that’s somehow harder to deal with. “I understand that sometimes people have secrets that they can’t share, even if they want to. But Bitty… I need you to tell me if you’re in danger, ok? That guy, I’m pretty sure he’s behind the window getting smashed, right?”

“He won’t be back.” Bitty tells him firmly. “I guarantee it.”

“But are you safe?” Jack persists. “I need to know, Bitty. ”

Bitty frowns up at him, lost for words. There’s an urgency in Jack’s tone that he’s never heard before, at least not off the ice. Well of course Jack doesn’t want him to get injured, that makes sense – it would be bad for the team in the short term at least. But this seems… well it seems like more than that.

“I don’t feel unsafe.” Bitty says after a long pause and it comes out strangely soft. “I swear I’m ok, Jack.”

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?”

Bitty sighs, and scrubs his fist against his forehead. He just wants to go and eat his damn sandwich and lie down and listen to some music and try his best not to think about the way Jack’s looking at him right now. “I can’t promise you that. But I’m not- I’m not some princess that you need to save, Jack. I can look after myself, okay?”

“I know you can.” Jack says slowly. “I remember how you lifted me off my feet last week.”

Bitty blinks. 

Jack flushes even deeper and blurts “Just… please. I know you might not trust me enough to tell me the whole story. But if I can help you, will you let me?”

There’s no real reason for Bitty not to agree to that, so he nods and watches as Jack turns around abruptly and heads for the stairs. 

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I do trust you, Jack.”

Jack pauses and turns around just long enough to nod at him. “Good.”

Bitty feels like some other stupid words might just bubble up if he’s not careful, so he reaches out and takes a giant bite of his sandwich to keep them at bay. He watches Jack climb the stairs and swears to himself that he will never, ever, ask him for help.


End file.
